


What Do You Want?

by trixm



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, I'm Sorry, M/M, Relationship Issues, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:37:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8524249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trixm/pseuds/trixm
Summary: Los Santos isn't everything Ray dreamed it would be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> One day I'll write you something happy, friends.
> 
> Today is not that day.

_This isn’t what I want._

The words don’t make it past the ache in Ray’s throat.  Clenching his teeth and balling his hands into fists, Ray tries to hold back the burn in his stomach.  That familiar kindling that threatens to engulf him every day.  The one that makes Ray want to scream and throw things because everything is  _wrong_.

But he just nods instead.

Michael flashes him that smile.  That one.  The one that keeps his coiling rage from igniting into resentful flames.  The one that has Ray’s mind telling him this is worth it.

Because it is, isn’t it?  Each of Michael’s electric smile, each cacophonous laugh, each whoop of delight- that’s why they’re here, isn’t it?  And Ray loves Michael, more than the world itself.  So he nods and smiles back.  And even if it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, it is enough.

So Ray follows him.

Follows Michael from the east coast to Los Santos.  Follows him into dark alleys to get beat by thugs twice their size.  Follows him to AmmuNation and to roof tops and car parks and just about anywhere they can make a scene.  Follows him on the tips of people’s tongues as they talk about this baby-faced duo that has the streets alight in flames and hollow points.  Follows him to the FAKEs.  And he follows him now, even if it is only to the local convenience store.

Ray wants to believe that Michael will go in, grab a pack of cigarettes, and leave.  All he wants to do right now is be back in their apartment and get a few rounds of COD in before they have to be at the penthouse.  Because Geoff  _would_ call a heist meeting in the middle of the night.  Not like Ray has anything better to do.  Like sleep.  But whatever, it doesn’t matter because Michael is just grabbing a pack and then they’ll be home in no time.

Except he doesn’t.  Because Michael can never be easy.  Ray almost sighs out loud when Michael whips his gun out and holds up the cashier.  It is almost predictable but Ray really, really had hoped.  Pushing aside his disappointment in not getting any game time in tonight, Ray shoots the heroic customer who had almost snuck up behind Michael.  Michael doesn’t even flinch when the body hits the ground behind him.  He knows Ray always has his back.

There’s that grin again, the one that almost makes the way the night is going better as Michael briefly turns towards Ray.  The cashier had frozen at the sound of gunfire and only after Michael practically jumps over the counter and puts the mouth of pistol to his head does he start shoveling money into the bag again.

They’re down the block and nearly through an alleyway when the red and blue lights of Los Santos’ finest light up streets.  The bag of money in Michael’s hand nearly gets snagged on the fence they jump.  The feel of steel under Ray’s feet is familiar enough that he lets himself believe this is just like a run back in New York.  They’ll end up back in Ray’s shitty apartment, smoke and be giddy on the high and left over adrenaline of the job.  Just the two of them, reckless and free.

But they won’t.  That much is obvious when Michael leads them down a familiar street that Ray can’t pretend belongs back home.  This one takes them straight to Geoff’s rather than back to East Harlem with the terrible music of El Barrio assaulting them through paper thin walls with cracking lead paint.

Geoff’s penthouse is too pristine for that.  Its marble and velvet and gold and decadence inlaid with sin.  Ray’s spent years here and still can’t feel comfortable in the place.  So he perches himself on the used leather couch in the living room, the one Jack saved from his old place because of the  _memories_ , and carves himself a small sanctuary as he loads up Geoff’s Xbox.  He can hear Michael in the other room retelling the night’s events and maybe he can at least pretend they’re back in their Los Santos apartment since New York was too much of a stretch.

But Ray can’t.  The lights of the city bounce off of everything in this room because it is far too shiny and it draws his attention away from the game because fuck if Geoff doesn’t have the king’s view of Los Santos from his wall to wall windows.  Ray is in awe of this city as much as he was the first night he came.  Even from the high rises in New York and the undimming lights of the city, there was something different about Los Santos.  It calls to him.  When he had followed Michael here, albeit reluctantly, he had seen the cityscape and thought maybe,  _maybe_  he could make something out of this.

Instead, the city had taken Ray and make him into something he had never wanted.

Or maybe Ray had done it to himself while he wasn’t looking.

Still, when Geoff piles into the room with Michael leaning heavily on his side and they both reek of alcohol, Ray smiles.  And laughs.  COD is turned off in favor of Always Sunny and Ray stares at the television and pretends to watch along with his boyfriend and his boss.  Because that’s what he should do.

His eyes keep darting to the clock on the wall.  It keeps ticking closer to when the others will arrive and Ray is actually thankful that Michael and Geoff have gone and gotten themselves drunk because then they don’t bother him.  They watch their stupid show and mock the stupid characters and Ray can tune them out and scroll through Reddit on his phone.  He doesn’t have to put on a mask and try to seem okay right now because neither Michael nor Geoff could tell the difference.  In fact, they probably don’t care.

Ray stops himself there. Of course they care.

Ray’s just too hard on the others at times.  Geoff cares about all of them- always giving them fair cuts and doing his absolute best to make sure that no one gets hurt on a heist.  He has them over for dinners and helps out whenever someone in the crew has a problem.  He’s a good boss, a good  _friend_  and Ray is just unfair to think otherwise.

And Michael.

Michael couldn’t be better fit for Ray if the world tried.  Ray knows this.  It’s why he follows Michael through his shenanigans.  Michael gives Ray space whenever he needs it and is understanding when Ray just can’t handle people anymore.  He isn’t demanding or controlling and Ray knows that he is lucky.  So maybe Michael hasn’t picked up on the fact that Ray isn’t happy and maybe he hasn’t done something Ray’s wanted to do in longer than Ray can remember.  That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.  With how big the crew has become and all the shit they’ve done recently, Michael’s been more than caught up in jobs for Geoff.  And it isn’t like Ray tells him what he wants either.

Really, it is Ray who is the one with the problem, he reminds himself.

But there is that gnawing in his stomach as he watchedsGeoff and Michael.  It is there when the others arrive and when the meeting is postponed because Geoff is just too shitfaced to remember the plans.  It almost gets out when Geoff insists they stay the night and Michael jumps on the idea without consulting Ray.  But Ray just smiles and shrugs.

_This isn’t what I want._

That is all Ray can think as he sits in the blue light of the television screen, long after the others have gone to bed.  He’s finally gotten the chance to play some COD and somehow the game doesn’t feel as satisfying as he expected.  Ray toys with the idea of going to sleep, just ending the day and slipping into his dreamland.  It is easier that way, he knows.  But he can’t just sleep all day.  Because Michael notices.  If he notices anything, it’s that.  He might not know why Ray does it, but he knows it’s bad, and refuses to let Ray stay in his fantasies as long as Ray would like.

Ray drops the controller into his lap, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands in frustration.  Something seems to snap in his mind and the desire to sleep flips on itself entirely.  He doesn’t want to go to sleep, not now.  There is so much to do, so much-

Ray doesn’t even know what he thinks there is to do.  He has nothing outside of his Xbox and Geoff’s orders.  He and Michael go out sometimes, but they’re on strict orders about what they can and cannot do.  It is nothing like the freedom of New York; the city provided anonymity and a lack of crew monopoly that kept things interesting back there, but now…

“Can’t sleep?”  Ryan’s voice almost makes Ray jump.

“Don’t really like sleeping in a bed that’s not mine,” Ray lies.  Ryan gives him a hard look, one that sees through the false statement, but he doesn’t call Ray on it.  They both know Ray’s slept in a variety of places since they had met, including the penthouse.   Instead of commenting, Ryan slides into the nearest armchair with a heavy sigh.

“Can you believe he made us all come down here and then can’t even hold a proper meeting?” Ryan says with a shake of his head.

“I mean, yeah.  Dude, he did this last month too,” Ray points out.  Ryan chuckles at this before shrugging.

“True.  Doesn’t mean I didn’t have anything better to do.”

“Bullshit, you’d be at home watching shitty infomercials, maybe buying some As Seen On TV popcorn maker,” Ray snickers.  Ryan gives him a strange look.  Ray throws his hands up in a sign of defense, though the grin split across his face isn’t very convincing.  “Hey, don’t give me that look.  I saw that Slap Chop piece of shit last time I was over.”

“It actually works,” Ryan mumbles. 

“Whatever you say, man.”

“So why’d Michael get our  _infallible_  leader wasted?” Ryan asks.  Ray shrugs, dropping his eyes to his controller.  He doesn’t really feel like telling the story of their stick up, especially not after hearing Michael rehash it with Geoff.  And Jack.  And Gavin.  Ray sighs, shaking his head at how skewed his night has been.

“Michael robbed a shop.  Lost the cops and came here,” is Ray’s summation of it all.  Ryan doesn’t seem to need more, nodding in understanding at Ray’s short explanation.

“Guess we’re celebrating even the most rudimentary of victories nowadays,” Ryan comments, smirking when Ray snorts in amusement.  “That’s the type of work you and Michael used to door before, right?  Back in New York?”  Ray is surprised at Ryan’s question.  The guys rarely talk about their past, and even though Ray and Michael’s happen to be the most mild of group’s origin stories, they still don’t bring it up.  Ray can’t help but grin at the chance to talk about the place he’s been nostalgic about all night.

“Yeah man.  Back there almost everything was small jobs.  No heists like it is here.  Just me and Michael taking what we could.  There were some big names around the city, but Manhattan is a fickle bitch.  One guy would come up to get ripped down the next day.  Running the small gigs was better- keep your head down and pockets full and you were good to go,” Ray recalls fondly.  Ryan is still watching him, face neutral by eyes sharp in the glow of the electronic light.

“Why’d you leave?”  Ray’s smile fades a bit at this question.  He takes a few moments to think about how to answer it before picking the controller back up and clicking off the menu screen.

“Dunno, man.  Why do any of us leave?”

“Because backwater towns don’t make good hunting spots,” Ryan offers.  Ray glances over at him but allows himself to be drawn into the starting match.  The clicking buttons of the controller are all that break the silence for a few moments and Ray thinks he found a good distraction.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Ryan points out.

“I don’t know,” Ray snaps.  “Since when do you care about shit like that?”

“Just asking,” Ryan says, clearly backing off for now.

Ray can't focus on the game and his kill to death ratio is atrocious.  His mind is whirling with everything he wishes he can say to Ryan.  He wants to tell him he never wanted to leave.  Tell him about how Michael painted this picture of greatness and more freedom with bigger reward out in Los Santos.  How Ray just loves Michel so fucking much that any future with him seemed like Ray was making the right choice.  How all of these things- all of them were lies.

Ray left New York because he thought it was what he wanted because Michael was what he wanted.  What he wants.  And he still wants a future with Michael but not here.  Not like this.

Los Santos is Ray’s biggest regret.

The match has been over for a while but Ray hasn’t clicked away from the stats screen.  Neither he nor Ryan has spoken but Ray feels like he’s been asked a question.  The words in his head want to be let out.  He wants to say it.  Now, out loud, to someone.  To Ryan.  Because saying it to Ryan makes it real but, oh god, it doesn’t make it so real that Michael knows.  Because Michael can’t know because-

Because Michael is all that Ray wants.  He loves him.  They just mesh so well.  They meshed so well.  It might be a bit foggier lately, but they’re both so busy and the crew and the city and life-

And Ryan’s across the room and has a hand on Ray’s shoulder.  His face is still neutral but his eyes are softer.  Ray finds himself hiccoughing and wetness down his cheeks and he isn’t sure if he said all of that aloud or if he just started crying and that’s why Ryan is so concerned.

“I’m sorry, I’m being over dramatic,” Ray says, voice rough to his own ears.

“Stop,” Ryan commands, pushing Ray over on the couch so that he can squish in next to him.  “You can’t keep doing that.”

“I’m just going through a weird time,” Ray says.  It is one of his most overused excuses that he says to himself.  It sounds even flimsier out loud and Ryan’s nonplussed look confirms he thinks so too.  “I mean, I think I just miss Michael.  We never get a chance to see each other.”

“You see each other every day,” Ryan points out, shooting down Ray’s second favorite excuse.  Ray actually flinches, pulling away from Ryan.  The latter refuses to let Ray squirm out of this one, arm tightening around his shoulders.

“Ray,” Ryan says warningly.  When Ray slumps in defeat, Ryan repeats himself.  “You see each other every day, I don’t know how that can be the problem.”

“Yeah, I know but-” Ray lets out a frustrated sigh.  Ryan is looking at him knowingly and Ray thinks he must have said at least some of what he was thinking before.  With a mental fuck it, Ray decides that if he’s in this far already, better just say what he feels.  “We never see  _each other_ ¸ you now?  We’re either here, or on assignment.  And even when we’re home, we’re like operating in to separate spaces.  And I get it.  Neither of us get own time and when we do, we just do our thing.”

“It just sucks that our thing isn’t doing shit together anymore,” Ray mutters.

“Ray,” Ryan says, voice soft.  “Are you happy?”

Ray is so taken aback by the question that he laughs.  His body shakes with it and soon his laughter is so hard that Ryan is shushing him and asking if he’s okay.  Really, it isn’t a funny question.  The answer isn’t funny either. But for Ray- for Ray who has had no one ask him that since moving to this shitty city, it is hilarious that it comes at fuck all in the morning in the middle of Geoff’s living room from the most feared and bloodied mercenary in the city.

“I’ve been worse,” is Ray’s honest response.  Saying no, admitting he is unhappy and miserably so, is too much for Ray.  He can’t admit that, can’t let himself think-

“Ray,” Ryan’s voice is warning again.

“No, really,” Ray says honestly.  “I’ve been worse.  I mean, I’ve got a good job.  And Michael.  And when that’s good, life is good too.  It just always isn’t good.”

“That isn’t how it is supposed to be, Ray.”

“Yeah, well, easier said than done.”

“Why?”  Ray pulls away again and this time Ryan lets him.  Ray is looking at Ryan as if the other man is speaking another language.

“Why?” Ray repeats.  Ryan just looks at him expectantly.  “I dunno, dude, because my whole life is here?   _Michael_  is here.”

“But you already started over once before.  And Michael came with you that time too,” Ryan points out.

“No, I came with him,” Ray says, too quickly to think about how it sounded to Ryan’s ears.  Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, Ray regrets them.  Ryan’s eyebrows fly high and Ray quickly backpedals.  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I think you did.”

“No, you just don’t get it!” Ray growls, hands running through his hair aggressively.

“Then explain it to me,” Ryan prompts.

“I can’t just- I love him.  You can’t explain that or why that makes you do things.  I want him to be happy and he wanted to come here so I came too.  It isn’t his fault things didn’t go the way I wanted.”

“Then tell Michael to try again with you somewhere else.”

“Michel loves it here!  He’d never leave.”

“If you asked-”

“I’m not going to ask him, that’s unfair,” Ray snaps.

“But it isn’t when it’s you who is asked to stay?” Ryan asks.

“That isn’t what it’s like,” Ray sighs, feeling like he is getting nowhere.  Or somewhere, the voice in the back his mind prods.  Ray squashes the thought, not happy with where it could be taking him.  Saying all of this to someone else and having them respond was reaffirming the demons in Ray’s mind that he works so hard to silence.  But the way Ryan is looking at him makes Ray question his own reluctance to face them down.

“You aren’t a secondary character in your own story,” Ryan says after a minute.  When Ray opens his mouth to respond, Ryan holds up a hand to stop him.  “I know we don’t have the most…conventional lifestyle, but the rest of us truly love it.  I can’t imagine how you feel here because to me, this is the closest thing to home I’ve ever felt.  I know it’s like that for Michael too.  But you?  You’re different.  And that isn’t a bad thing.  But Ray, we’re all here because here is the best place for us.  You need to find that place for you.  You can’t waste your life not chasing down the things you love.”

“But I do love things here, that’s the problem,” Ray says, voice low and defeated.  “I love sniping, and this crew has given me the opportunity to do that.  I love all of you guys and, outside of Michael, you are the only ones I’ve ever trusted.  I love Michael, and I love him so much that I make these things be what I want.”

“You can like things about Los Santos, love them even, and it still not be what you want.  There isn’t a one size fit all that checks off everything that you value, but there is something damn close to it.  And that isn’t this for you, Ray.”

“So what are you saying, I should just leave?” Ryan gives Ray a hard look.

“Yes.”  Ray expects the answer, as Ryan is nothing if not blunt, but it still serves as a shock to him.  The thought of leaving everything here was something he secretly tossed around before and it had felt like freedom but now it felt like being thrown off the side of a ship without a lifesaver.

“I can’t,” Ray protests.

“Why, Ray?”

“Because I can’t just leave you guys, I can’t leave Michael!”

“We were fine before you came and we’ll survive after,” Ryan brushes off that worry with ease.  Then he pins Ray with another of his intense stares.  “And why do you think Michael wouldn’t come with you?”

“Because…” Ray chokes back a sob, the final walls of self-preservation falling around him.  “Because I know he won’t.  He won’t understand, he loves it here too much.  Michael wouldn’t come with me and…and he’d hate me if I did leave.”

The statement hangs between them for a moment and Ryan seems to be trying to figure out what to say next.  Ray is miserable after having confessed his biggest fear.  He has always wanted to have someone listen to his sadness and now that he's said it all to Ryan, it feels like someone has drained his body of its life force.  With heavy limbs and an aching head, Ray is raw and destroyed and wishes the couch would just swallow him up.

“He wouldn’t hate you,” Ryan offers.  “Yeah, he’d probably get angry.  But he’s always angry.  And he loves you, Ray.  If you told him you’re unhappy-”

“I can’t,” Ray wails.  “I can’t tell him that.  He’d think- he’d think it was his fault.  I can’t tell him any of this.  But t-this… _this isn’t what I want_.”

“Then what do you want?”

Ryan’s question hangs in the air and Ray thinks about it.  He thinks of all the things he misses, all the dreams he put on hold coming to Los Santos.  Ray thinks of all he has given up and all the places he hasn’t gone and the lives he hasn’t lived because he decided to follow Michael to the most corrupt and dangerous city in the country. 

Ray thinks about heading south somewhere.  Somewhere where it is dry and warm all year without the humidity or stinking sea scent that permeates Los Santos.  He thinks of nights out that don’t involve stick ups or over indulgence.  He thinks of a life lead by his rules and his agenda.  He thinks of long expanses of starry skies and sour smoke in his lungs and wild grins that are brighter than the gleam of the moon. 

And then he thinks of Michael, and his warm embrace and the way that the early morning sun looks golden on his pale skin.  He thinks of how his laugh sparks something so much stronger than this treacherous ember in his stomach.  How his hands are warm and strong and know all the right places to touch Ray to make him melt.  He thinks of stolen kisses and soft glances and whisper I love you’s.

Ray thinks of all of this and draws himself up to say one of the hardest things he has ever said.

“I want to go to bed.”

Ray’s tone leaves no room for argument but Ray can see the pity on Ryan’s face.  Ryan just looks at him for a moment before nodding and standing from the couch.

“Okay,” Ryan says.

“Okay,” Ray repeats.  He slides off the couch and follows Ryan down the guest room hall.  He ignores the last look Ryan gives him before he slides in the room he shares with Michael.

Michael is face down in the middle of the king sized mattress, clothed in only his boxers and lay bare above the covers.  Ray is caught between fond amusement and annoyance, but pushes it away in favor of grabbing one of the extra blankets from the closet and climbing into bed.

The blanket is no sooner over the pair of them then Michael pulls on it so that he is rolled up in its warmth.  Ray sighs as the familiar situation and is left hugging only the barest edge of the blanket.  He closes his eyes and tries to forget everything that he just spoke about with Ryan in the living room.

He isn’t doing a good job of clearing his mind from the encounter until Michael rolls over in his sleep and snuggles into Ray’s side.  Michael’s head comes to nestle between the crook of Ray’s arm and his chest, hands splaying against Ray’s stomach as Michael’s legs demandingly intertwine with Ray’s own.   Once positioned, the still sleeping Michael lets out a content sigh and nuzzles into Ray’s body.

Ray can’t help the rush of warmth that bubbles into his chest.  It chases away everything he spoke about with Ryan and all the leftover embers in his stomach.  Warm and content, Ray wraps his arms around Michael’s sleeping form and closes his eyes once more to try for a peaceful sleep.

He dreams of warm embraces in warmer sun and endless smiles and co-op games and nights where laughter turns into feverish kisses into cuddles in their own bed.  He dreams of places he has never been and watching auburn curls bounce ahead in front of him from the excitement of it all.

Ray dreams.

And when he wakes in the morning to and empty bed and the raucous sounds of breakfast making havoc from the kitchen, maybe he wishes he hadn’t.

 


End file.
